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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726027">Hot Mouth Distraction</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderCant/pseuds/ThunderCant'>ThunderCant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blow Jobs, Claire Redfield (mentioned) - Freeform, Cum Swallowing, Deepthroating, Drinking, M/M, Nipple Play, enemies who fuck sometimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726027</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderCant/pseuds/ThunderCant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris feels guilty and goes to the cheapest place to drown his sorrows. His sorrows, represented by one nasty bioterrorist, decide to drown him with something else.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hot Mouth Distraction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Also porn, can't leave out the porn on valentines day.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Every time Chris thought he should stop drinking, he felt a sharp twang of guilt in his guts and decided that he needed another one. The bar he’d found close to the hospital was absolutely pitiful, full of cheap, weak shit, but in his haze he hadn’t been thinking too hard about who would be carrying the best selection. He just wanted to get drunk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that wasn’t strictly accurate. It was less wanting to get drunk and more wanting to get drunk </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he’d crash into bed somewhere and hate himself a little less in the morning. A hangover, he’d decided, was better than ruminating on the girl in the hospital, stuck in isolation after some bright fucker decided to employ some feral zombies as bodyguards. Besides, the nurses had firmly encouraged him to leave when it became apparent that Claire was probably infected with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And wasn’t that always the issue? There was always </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> ready to infect innocent people, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he would find out about at three in the morning in a panicked phone call. Always too late to stop someone from dying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The positive voice his therapist encouraged him to cultivate was mercifully silent. He could do without an insincere voice telling him that his little sister getting hurt wasn’t his fault. It was his fault she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> involved in bioterrorism. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He downed the rest of his beer and gestured for another. An unexpected downside to putting on muscle weight was how much more expensive it was to get properly wasted. Chris tugged his wallet out and frowned, wondering how far another five bucks could take him. Certainly not enough to sleep well. He groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned louder. The scrape of the stool next to him was like angels fluttering down from on high, specifically to scream ‘fuck you’ at him. Chris threw out his best glare, hoping against hope that the man next to him was, in fact, some sort of hallucination- or an incredibly poor-taste cosplayer. Either or.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No such luck. Despite the more casual clothing, it was Wesker through and through, right down to the permanently smug smile and ridiculous sunglasses. He’d settled himself right next to Chris and flagged the bartender for a drink, though he wrinkled his nose at the selection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your little organisation clearly doesn’t pay you enough if </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the best you can afford,” he said, “honestly Chris, I thought you had better taste than,” he squinted, “Bertie Brand Brewery?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right to the insults, same as ever. God, Wesker was the last person he wanted to see. Even if Wesker hadn’t, somehow, been behind this particular incident, he still had to come along and be a pain in the ass. Hell, if he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it probably meant that he had something to gain from the wreckage, even if the wreckage was a single lab and a few miserable zombie corpses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ugh. Chris rubbed his brow. The evening had gone from terrible to a personal hell. No point dragging it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wesker. What the fuck do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyebrows flew up in mock offense, “is that any way to greet an old co-worker? My Chris, you must be in a foul mood. And I was glad to see you, for once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re only glad to see me if you get to fuck with me. So what do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker hummed lightly, turning back to his drink, like he was musing over what to say, “nothing much. My current company was looking for an intern that ran off with some research, but it seems like she was already taken care of. Your doing, no doubt-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not mine,” Chris said, gritting his teeth, “Claire’s.” He softened and slumped, tipping more beer down his throat. It didn’t even burn well. “Shitty intern you had. Only managed to infect one person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Chris waved his hand, “now fuck off and let me finish this in peace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sadly, Wesker did not fuck off. He did go quiet though, leaning forwards to match Chris, sipping slowly. Chris was sure his gaze was slipping over, now and then, hunting for something to say that would get under his skin. The thoughts prickled, guilt coming back in waves. What the hell was he doing here? Drinking while his sister was stuck in a hospital bed? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thoughts swirled. He needed another drink. He needed something that would burn away all the guilt like fire burning off the booze in a dish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker was staring at him. Behind those sunglasses were eyes like the setting sun. More than enough to overwhelm him for the evening, until he could abandon Wesker in the morning and visit Claire again. He doubted Wesker would turn down a chance to ruin him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He downed the rest of his drink and declared, “I am nowhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>near </span>
  </em>
  <span>drunk enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure your muscles would let you get drunk on this. How much did you have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not enough. Ugh.” He sat up straight and stared at himself, reflected in Wesker’s sunglasses, “if you’re not going to fuck off, you can buy me a drink.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not helping you get drunk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker thought. His smile turned dangerous, showing teeth, and he slowly licked his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I could pay you back for your, ahem, unintentional help. But it seems you weren’t responsible, and I find you in a bar anyway. Penny for your thoughts?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris growled at him and threw on his coat, tugging Wesker up by the arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not here.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>As it happened, Wesker was staying in a nearby hotel. It was only a five minute drive from the hospital, but the windows in his room turned out towards the city, sparkling and busy in the twilight. Chris was glad for it; he didn’t need the looming, grim building to remind him that he was planning on fooling around while his sister could turn into a slavering undead. Hell, she might’ve already been undead, and the doctors wanted to spare him a night before saying that they’d already burnt her headless corpse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that was for another time. Right now, he had a lapful of Wesker, sliding his hands under his coat to free Chris of it. He was always so much lighter than Chris remembered. It felt like he should have been able to push him around, and it ached that Chris knew he couldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can undress myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t stop. Once the jacket was gone Wesker rubbed his hands over Chris’ shoulders and arms, little smile playing on his face while he smoothed over the rough skin. It didn’t seem to matter that his shirt was old and stained and poorly fitting, Wesker tickled at the hems like it was a fine garment. He fiddled with the collar and dipped his head down to mouth at Chris’ neck, sunglasses knocking into the thin skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris growled and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you planning on wearing these the whole time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Wesker could respond, Chris tossed his glasses to the side. It finally made his smile drop, the smug bastard. Wesker almost looked like he was pouting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could have asked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Most people don’t wear sunglasses inside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker pressed his mouth into a thin line, hummed, and went right back to Chris’ neck. A little rougher this time, a little less of the soft, open mouth kisses and more teeth, needling and scraping. Of course he’d bite, knowing that Chris was thinking about Claire. Chris fought back, threading his hands into Wesker’s hair and yanking his head back before he could break skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, with his fire-bright eyes and streaks of blond hair starting to fall into his face, Wesker looked actively annoyed. He folded his arms, raised an eyebrow and asked, “do you want this or not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes. No. Chris’ head whirled. The alcohol hadn’t been nearly enough to let him shed his inhibitions, and it was far too much to keep a good head on his shoulders. His emotions were running away; the guilt, the irritation that always started to bleed out of him whenever Wesker showed up, the anger inside and out. He growled and turned his head away. His thoughts followed him, crowing and cawing for attention. He should be paying attention to Claire. He never should have left the hospital. He should have taken his glass and smashed it into Wesker’s sorry face, never mind all the destruction that would inevitably come from that. He’d chosen to walk into the lion’s den, and now that the lion was licking its lips, he couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or anxiety bubbling up in his guts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker sighed and slid off his lap, leaving it cold and empty. It should have felt like a relief. It was an invitation, plain and simple, for Chris to leave. And god, it was tempting to leave- swallow himself up in his own thoughts until the morning came, and he could focus on what he should. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Claire. He didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t know what she was infected with, if the hospital even had the resources to deal with it. The only person who knew would be the staff, and they wouldn’t let him in at eleven at night. He doubted he’d even get a phone call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard a soft thump on the ground, and felt a warm palm cupping his cheek. Turning him around to face the bright eyed evil in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re very tense,” Wesker murmured, thumbing over his cheekbones, “you’re that worried about her? I thought you were the type to have more faith.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris responded before he could think, “I don’t know what she’s infected with!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker blinked. Paused, hunting for words, but his slow strokes resumed before anything else, pleasantly hot on Chris’ face. There was quiet, for a moment, and he felt a lot like the rookie he had once been, waiting for reassurance that his captain wasn’t going to fire him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s likely nothing serious,” he said, fingers dancing down to the marks he’d left on Chris’ neck, “that intern was hardly a prize scientist. It won’t be a new strain. Unless Miss Redfield was injected, it was probably caught early enough.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Liar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it makes you feel better,” Wesker shrugged, “but even if I was, worrying won’t do you much good, Chris. You’re going to give yourself a worse headache come morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris gave a short, dry laugh. “I’m not even drunk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not. But I’m sure you could have a relaxing evening, hmm?” His voice dropped low and quiet, leaning close so Chris could smell the clean citrus and undertones of something smokey. “Let’s get you out of these.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris swallowed. He felt Wesker’s hands settle on his hips, rubbing circles into the tight flesh, dipping beneath his waistline. Any words he had left caught in his throat when Wesker started to fidget with his buttons, sliding his fingers beneath Chris’ jeans, hot and teasing. Painfully slowly and light too, the way that they would just start to tickle at the trail of hair before dancing back up, more soothing circles, pushing his shirt up higher and higher. To say nothing of how close he was, his body pushed between Chris’ thighs, back at his neck, trailing small kisses over the marks he’d left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed Chris down to the mattress, only leaving his neck to roll his shirt over his head, roaming his hands up and over Chris’ chest. It was like Wesker was trying to eat him up, bowing his head to a nipple and rolling his tongue over it, startlingly hot, enough to make Chris arch up and hold in a gasp. He heard Wesker chuckle, felt his teeth and hissed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you have to bite?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He only got another chuckle in return. More chapped lips, soothing the bite, suckling and licking until he finally drew a low moan from Chris’ throat. He could feel Wesker smile against his chest, his hands fidgeting with Chris’ belt buckle. Chris finally settled his hands on him again, threading into his hair and holding him against his chest, forcing his nose to the skin. Wesker grunted but soon, his belt was gone, and the bastard was already starting to shuck his jeans off. One hand on his hip, one lingering near the zip, playing with his boxers, all but purring once he found Chris’ cock, immediately wrapping around it. Christ, his hands were warm. He was always warm, like a black rock in the midday sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker bit down again and Chris yanked his hair. It didn’t dissuade him. He just kept suckling at Chris’ sensitive nipple, lathing it with attention while he slowly slid the fabric over his hardening dick. He was so light that his weight couldn’t keep Chris pinned, and he gladly rocked his hips in time with the motions. Soon enough, his jeans were off, and there was only the thin cloth between him and a very good time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris gulped. Wesker finally pulled off his chest with a final kiss, eyes roaming appreciatively over the muscular expanse of his body. It was like he was trying to commit every mole and freckle to memory, every little crack his skin ever had, catalogued under his bare fingertips. Christ, other than his gloves, he was still dressed, too. A tyrant, every inch, towering over him, with his most vulnerable parts in his hand. Still jerking him off, but deliciously slowly. Coaxing and gentle, entirely unlike Wesker, usually. Chris shut his eyes and focused on the feelings alone, the way his hand pianoed up his length, squeezing near the base before turning feather light as he reached the glans, sometimes thumbing it, sometimes not. A regular tease, but a good one- it stirred up his guts and gave him something to roll into, a pleasant, though hardly luxurious heat. If it weren’t for the remaining worry in his heart, he could pretend he was at home</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s better,” Wesker cooed, keeping up his steady ministrations while he came close to Chris’ face, “when was the last time you had a gentle touch, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris didn’t answer him, turning his head away with nothing more than a ‘hmph’. Wesker laughed and suddenly, he was kissing all up his throat again, all the way up to his jaw, even chancing a nibble at his ear before he thought better of it and left kisses just behind it, feather-light and teasing. It felt childish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker reached the corner of his mouth just as he decided to breach the final wall between them, and his hot, clever hand was all over Chris’ dick. He gasped and Wesker took advantage of the weakness, catching his kiss and sucking on his lips. His teeth grazed Chris’ lower lip, tongue stroking inside his mouth, and Chris couldn’t do anything for a moment. He was taken up with the sensations; cheap, watered down beer lingering unpleasantly in his mouth, Wesker’s left hand, now firmly on his cheek, and that wonderful, silky heat below, as he massaged the pre around. God it was good. It was getting better, the wetter he got, the more glide Wesker had while he rolled and teased and stroked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled off all too soon, leaving Chris growling at the loss. With nothing but another peck on the lips, Wesker shoved him down onto the pillows, forcing his hips up and shedding his boxers for good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christ, he looked good up there, his eyes gleaming in the gloom. If Chris didn’t know him  better, he would have been the luckiest man on earth. He licked his lips at the sight, and didn’t fuss when Wesker moved him as he pleased. Legs bent, pillow under his hips, exposing everything for him to see. His dick bobbed in the cool air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that there’s no boundaries- professional or otherwise- I suppose I can finally tell you you’re to die for, can’t I?” Wesker mused, sitting back on his rump and flicking his cock. Chris hissed. He could see the bulge in the other man’s pants, catching the light, straining at hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cut the sweet talk,” he said. Wesker ignored him, prattling on anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly, even when you are being a pest, you’re exceptionally good looking. All those muscles, all for me- if I hadn’t seen you in the showers before, Chris, I’d be </span>
  <em>
    <span>gagging</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a chance to swallow all </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he stroked a finger down Chris’ cock, “whole. Sadly, I doubt reality would live up to my fantasies. Unless it does happen to get bigger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris gaped at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s- I- </span>
  <em>
    <span>what sort of fantasies are you having?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker just shrugged, “exciting ones. Still, perhaps I could make </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> fantasies come true?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, Wesker, what the fuck kind of fantasies do you think I’m having?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look he got was absolutely shameless. Nonetheless, Wesker shrugged off his clothes, leaving them in a heap, before he crawled back between Chris’ legs. He looked devillish, cut with rich shadows, all the attention drawn to his hellfire eyes. It was his turn to lick his lips, dipping lower and lower, his hands on Chris’ thighs, before he finally shoved them apart. The glow lit up his skin. It was the same glow that signified an undying, remorseless killer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the hottest thing Chris had ever seen. Right up until Wesker spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come now. There’s no man that hasn’t fantasies about deep throating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> image flew straight out of his head, replaced with Wesker wrapping his lips around his thick, wet prick and sucking. Chris whined at the sudden heat, pressure gentle but insistent- focused on his head, though he felt the slow creep of sensation crawling up his cock. Hot, steady, and accompanied by a wet, nimble tongue, tickling the underside of his shaft. Further and further it went, occasionally pulling back, sometimes a little- just enough to feel the cool air, before it was covered again- sometimes enough that there was the tip, hanging on by nothing but the strength of Wesker’s tongue. He’d pepper it with kisses, sometimes lapping at the head alone, sometimes invisibly marking up the shaft, often dripping attention onto his balls- rolling them in his hands before taking one into his mouth and sucking, before letting it free to return to his prize. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris arched his back into every moment of attention. Every kiss, every suck, every lick, he couldn’t help but thrust into it. Especially as it seemed </span>
  <em>
    <span>welcome</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that Wesker would take everything he could give, all the way down his throat and then some.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pictured Wesker drooling come, pearly white and pretty down his chin, pictured him lapping it off his fingers and those brilliant, glowing eyes, staring right at him. Ready to take him to the root, swallowing it all up…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker’s nose hit his groin and Chris’s hands flew into his hair, toes tensed and curled as he tried to get used to having so much feeling all around him. Wesker, the bastard, didn’t seem so much as flustered by his position- his ass was up, his face was nestled into Chris’ sensitive parts- still managing to tongue his fucking balls, no less- and he’d dared to bring his thumb over Chris’ asshole, rubbing small circles on the tight muscle. Wesker made a soft sound, eyes open- he was looking right at Chris, and if Chris hadn’t dreamed about him before, Wesker was certainly going to take the leading role in the future. He hummed and Chris choked on his own breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this point, he was just trying to hold onto his own sanity- Wesker wanted him to say something but he was too swallowed up with the absolute luxury around his prick, feeling that never stopped. His balls- his whole body, even- felt painfully tight, and it hadn’t been all that long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t going to give Wesker the indignity of making him come so quickly. He breathed deep and slow as he could, meeting Wesker’s eyes once he felt like he could speak again. “Okay,” he said, “I’m...Christ. When the fuck did you learn how to do this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker rolled his eyes at him, but apparently it was good enough. He returned to his treat, bobbing his head, slowly, like he was enjoying sucking cock as much as Chris was enjoying being sucked. They fell into a rhythm, where Chris bucked his hips just as Wesker got halfway, relishing in the warmth, before he let himself slide out. Ever hotter, ever more pressure, bubbling up inside him. All his thoughts fled, leaving nothing but carnal urges, controlling his hips, his dick, even his moans. He couldn’t bear to keep them inside now, no more than he could bear to take his hands out of the silky strands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus- fuck, Wesker, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wesker, please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hardly knew what he was begging for- more, harder, faster? Tighter, perhaps? Somehow hotter or wetter? He didn’t know. Wesker apparently did, because he pulled back to just the tip, dipping his tongue into the meatus, before swallowing every single inch Chris had to give, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>humming.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hard, fast, rippling his throat so that Chris couldn’t bear it- he pulled his hair as thrusted wildly, though there was hardly anything more to thrust in, and spilled deep inside. It felt like it lasted an eternity, where every single nerve sang to the high heavens, muscles hard enough that he could keep Wesker impaled on his cock, virus powers or no. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it did not last an eternity. Before long, Chris was riding out the last of his orgasm, weakly moving his hips before his energy drained to nothing. He slumped back, sweaty, his body trembling. Relaxed wasn’t the word for it. It felt a lot more like Wesker had drained him of his life, dick first, and he was thankful for it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a while, they stayed in silence. Wesker stayed around his cock until Chris started to whimper from the sensitivity, and then he went to kissing up his thighs, hips and stomach, softly. Chris simply watched. It almost tickled. Eventually, he came to Chris’ face, again, taking him for a bitter, salty kiss. Chris wrinkled his nose at the taste and Wesker laughed at him, opting for his cheeks instead. He wasn’t anywhere near as sticky as Chris, but he could still see the redness of his lips and cheeks, the little bits of water at his eyes, and his sweaty face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They laid in silence for a long while, nothing but the soft huff of breath, lazing around with little urgency. Chris’ worries had been quelled, at least until morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really though- where did you learn to do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker grunted at him, coughing, before leaving him in bed. Chris heard him chug before he returned with two glasses, and he responded, hoarsely, “party trick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris watched him down the second glass. He was rubbing his throat, now and then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pride swelled in Chris’ chest. He had to restrain a snicker when he realised he’d fucked Wesker’s throat so hard, the man had temporarily lost his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll buy you a milkshake or something,” he said with a pat to the shoulder, eyes starting to close, “I’m gonna be in town for a while, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wesker just hummed at him before nodding, stretching up and tugging Chris to lay on top of him. He felt Wesker thread into his hair before the other man relaxed, clearly intent on staying the night- then again, it was his hotel room. It was probably more accurate to say that he had every intention of making Chris stay the night, as some sort of glorified teddy bear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he could deal with that. Wesker was warm and comfortable, and he’d kept his dickishness to a suitably low level. It would be easier to get to the hospital, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you mean that, about Claire?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm...Hilja’s...amateur.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris chuckled at his voice. “Alright. I’m gonna kick your ass if you’re lying.” </span>
</p>
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